Human Nature
by Dr. Phoenix
Summary: Ever watch a nature documentary and think, "If these events involved people rather than animals, you'd have a good story!"? That was my idea here. Apologies to BBC, National Geographic, PBS, and even Disney. No flames; if you don't like it, read something else. Remember, all characters here are HUMAN. Rated T because courtship, birth, fights, and death do happen in nature.
1. Chapter 1

Tinashe scarcely dared to breathe as she slipped past the eastern border of her village. Many tribes hunted bountiful game in this lush forest, and for that reason, it was never safe, even for a group of armed men. For a lone woman without weapons, the risk was even greater. Warring tribes would gladly kidnap an enemy to be used for ransom, slave labor, death as a public spectacle, or a life of abuse for the pleasure of others.

However, the tranquility of the woodland was irresistible. The birds who warbled in the blossoming trees never criticized a lady whose intricately woven braids came loose and hung in long tresses. The fish who swam in the coolness of the babbling brook never complained about feet without the ceremonial designs painted around the ankles.

She paused to nibble a few berries, perfectly ripened in the warmth of the summer sun. Although she wished she had brought a basket, Tinashe knew that a large number of berries would announce to her entire village that she had been in the forest. Her mother would scold her and give her extra chores, and the young men would no longer see her as marriageable.

Zeltzin had already been painting the black ochre speckles around her ankles for weeks, making innumerable trips to the garden in bouts of indecision concerning what flowers would make the most appropriate bouquet for the festival. Beginning that evening would be three days of events allowing young men to show their speed and agility in tournaments and foot races. The bachelors would be drawn to the intricacy of the young women's ochre designs, and pairs of champions and beauties would naturally form. If their families agreed to the match, the pair of mutual admirers would be wed at the end of the festival in a grand ceremony, uniting all couples simultaneously.

There was only one man who had captured Tinashe's eye, her childhood friend Ekundayo. He admired the spirited young woman who could best even the swiftest runners in a race, who thought for herself and made her own rules when deemed necessary, but their love was not meant to be, for not only was her beauty beyond compare, but their social classes would forever separate them. How could a simple farmer ever hope to win the approval of a merchant's family?

Closing her eyes, Tinashe lay down beneath the shade of a large tree, enjoying the slight darkness of the shade as the wind blew through her hair. The warmth of the sun lulled her until she was nearly asleep.

Hearing a twig snap, she sat up immediately, breathless as her heart pounded. Had she been found by an Adversary, or worse, a Marauder?

To her immense relief, Ekundayo stepped out of the clearing and sat beside her. "I thought you might have wandered off."

Tinashe hid a smile. "Lucky guess."

"Finally old enough to participate in the festival, and you take off hours before the events begin!"

"All you need to make a marriage work is equal social status, beautiful ankles, and the ability to win a foot race." She sighed. "I really don't even see the point. Women have babies just so the Marauders can abduct them. It's a wonder our tribe has survived this long." After a pause, she asked, "Will you be competing for the first time?"

Ekundayo shrugged. "I might…if any young ladies I admire are watching."

Their hands met as they looked into each other's eyes, no longer mindful of the dangers that lurked in the deceptively pristine woodland, but their reverie was interrupted by a sharp gasp. Looking up, they saw a young woman with a basket of leaves. Her drab robe and war paint easily identified her as a Marauder.

"Please don't hurt me," she began in the common language among all tribes. "I am not like others among my people. I want only leaves." She held out her basket for emphasis.

"Why?" Tinashe queried.

"My mother brews herbs," the Marauder answered, "to heal illness or tend wounds."

"Think she's a witch?" Ekundayo asked in his native language.

"If she is, she's a very frightened witch," answered Tinashe.

Unable to understand the words they spoke to each other, the Marauder began slipping away into the shadows as quietly as she could. It was her only hope, for she knew she could never outrun the enemy tribe. No one could, for among all tribes, theirs was the swiftest, just as hers had a reputation for pillaging.

Tinashe watched as her enemy retreated. Perhaps it was for the best. Let all three of them forget this chance encounter and go about their lives, pretending they had never met.

"We should go back," she remarked.

Ekundayo agreed.

"Race you?"

Those were the two words he could never resist. No man in the village had ever bested his speed, but he had yet to win against Tinashe. However, he loved the feeling of small clouds of dust billowing beneath his bare feet as he watched the wind cause the beautiful tresses just ahead of him to dance.

For a while, Tinashe held back, running shoulder to shoulder with Ekundayo. They were as wild birds, flying together in perfect formation. She wondered if she would ever fool Ekundayo into believing he could win. Allowing him to run past her a few yards, she put all her energy into a tremendous burst of speed and reached the village moments ahead of him.

"You have won!" he declared, panting slightly. "Any man in the village is yours!"

Tinashe smiled warmly. "Any man?"

He took his hands in hers, and they leaned forward, but before their lips could meet for the first time, they were interrupted by a shrill scream.

"Just look at you!" Zeltzin scolded, glaring at her younger sister. "Loose hair! Plain ankles! Racing as the men do! Who do you think you are, a vagabond?!"

She caught Tinashe by the wrist and dragged her to their tent. Although they were hardly nomadic, the tribe prided themselves in their ability to live simply.

"Where were you?!" Zeltzin demanded, winding her sister's hair into tight braids. "I hope you weren't sneaking off into the woods again! You know what happened to our brothers and sisters!"

Their mother had borne eight children. One had died in infancy of an unknown illness, and one had met a hunting accident as a young man. The others had been lost to Marauders. For having two children out of eight who survived to adulthood, other women referred to her as "the Blessed Woman of Great Fortune," for it was rare that more than one child out of ten would see maturity. As a result, the once thriving tribe had been reduced over the years to the inhabitants of one small village.

As soon as Tinashe's hair had been woven tightly into the proper style, she took the small pot of liquid ochre and gingerly dipped the brush into it, but instead of painting her ankles, she blackened her eyes and drew tears on her cheeks, thinking of the sorrow that inevitably befell all mothers when their children were lost. Perhaps she could be forced into attending the festival, but she would never allow anyone to force her into presenting herself as marriageable.


	2. Chapter 2

Tlacelel was only too aware of his enemies' eyes staring in horrified surprise as he approached the village, but he was not to be deterred now. He had already journeyed for weeks, sleeping beneath overhangs of rocks to shield himself from the rain, eating berries in a futile effort to satisfy his hunger, for he had carried no weapons to hunt game.

Among his people, after a king had reigned for half a year, it was his duty to find a queen. To do so, he must wander through the wilderness barefoot, going from village to village with neither weapons nor provisions. Having proven his courage and intelligence, thus ensuring his right to rule, he would choose the woman that he deemed most suitable.

Sometimes a king would be captured by enemies or perish from his inability to find food. In such cases, the crown would be passed to the first young noble who captured a live Marauder. Many men, who were either overly brave or exceedingly foolish, had lost their lives in this attempt.

When the previous king had failed to return, Tlacelel had refrained from joining other noblemen in what seemed to him a futile quest. However, when a Marauder had attempted to rob the young man's home, he fought back rather than shouting for his warriors. In the struggle, the Marauder was knocked unconscious, and Tlacelel had been declared king.

Time was running short. He must find his queen soon, or he would be considered lost, and the anarchy would continue, but now he had wandered into an enemy village. The people didn't seem to be Marauders. Their slender limbs seemed to indicate a tribe who prided themselves on agility and speed.

The young king's mind began to turn. Such qualities combined with his own tribe's brute strength would produce a fine heir. Somehow, he must take his wife from among this tribe. He would know no rest until then.

A young man approached him. "Have you come to make trouble?! I know from your bulging upper arms and your long hair that you are an Adversary!"

"It is true that the men of my tribe never cut their hair or beards," Tlacelel answered, "and we are proud of our strength, but I am not your enemy. I have come to make peace."

The man crossed his arms. "How can I believe you?"

"See for yourself. I have no weapons."

"Then what are you doing here?!"

"I have come to choose my bride."

Sensing the other's confusion, he explained the custom of his tribe and the idea that had formed in his head.

"It would benefit you as well," he concluded. "We stand against the Marauders with remarkable success, and my tribe would no longer attack yours. More of your children would survive to adulthood."

"We will consult the Wise One on this matter," the other man decided. "In the meantime, you may stay for our festival. I'll let the others know you're here, but if you betray our hospitality…!"

"Not at all!" After a pause, he added, "I am called Tlacelel."

"I am Ekundayo."

As the young men prepared for the festival, Tlacelel casually observed the women. What manner of tribe considered plaited hair to be beautiful? Among his own tribe, men always wore their hair and beards long, sometimes braiding them at night so they would appear fuller the next day. He who had the thickest hair on both sides of his head had the most female admirers, although the cheeks and area around the lips were kept clean-shaven for the sake of kissing young admirers without hinderance.

By contrast, the women allowed no hair to grow on their heads, for it was a sign of masculinity. Upon her smooth head, a woman might paint intricate designs or wear a garland of flowers, a sign of her social status as well as a way to enhance her natural beauty. If a woman was unmarried, her head was not completely smooth; she maintained hair that grew just past her ears to show she searched for a mate. If a married woman had failed to bear children after several years of marriage, she allowed her hair to grow, not cutting it until a child was born into her family, for a woman who was unable to bring forth heirs was no better than a man. Indeed, she was worse, for she lacked a male's physical strength.

At the sound of air blown through a conch shell, the men of Ekundayo's village lined up for the race. The first man who reached the tree at the top of the nearest hill and returned would be declared victor. The following day would bring bouts of jumping, matching wits, and wrestling, but the most important event, the test of speed, was held on its own day.

The signal was given, and the competitors sprinted away, cheered on by their families and young women hoping to find a match. Ekundayo loved the feeling of the soft grass beneath his feet. He had long since grown accustomed to the occasional stone or twig, and he was able to ignore all distractions.

Before the first man behind him had even reached the top of the hill, Ekundayo was rushing away from the tree as if it were a deadly foe. He knew many young ladies admired his athleticism, but he had met only one who could see past his low status, and she was waiting at the finish line for him.

Ekundayo barely heard the elders of the village declare him victor. He saw only the most beautiful woman in the tribe, her hair dappled with sunlight as the wind played with a few strands that had come loose from her braids, her warm eyes gazing at him affectionately. She placed her hands in his, and they stood lost in their own world.

"I'm not the man you want," he whispered. "I barely make enough to support myself. We'd starve."

"Let me starve with you rather than feast with another," she replied softly. "We'll make it somehow." Tinashe reached up to touch his face. "I know what man I want."

Before any protests could be made, the childhood friends sealed their love with their first kiss.

"I'm not going to ask you here." Ekundayo stroked her hair. "I'm going to wait and ask you properly, the way you deserve to be asked."

Tinashe no longer cared about her family's approval. Let them disown her if they wished. Ekundayo loved her not because she was marriageable, but because he truly cared about who she was, and he had proven himself worthy of her love in return, not by racing, but by simply being himself.

Tlacelel, meanwhile, had found a woman who appeared to be in distress. He approached her and asked what the trouble was.

"My sister's making a fool of herself in front of the entire village!" the young woman retorted. "We are members of a respectable family, a wealthy family! We should catch the attention of merchants' sons, not farmers!"

The visitor's interest was piqued. "You're a merchant's daughter then?"

"I am." She frowned. "What is it to an Adversary?"

"My people also value peace among tribes, although it seems impossible with our mutual enemy, the Marauders, and like you, we understand the importance of a good match being more important than romantic feelings in matrimony."

Despite her better judgment, Zeltzin found herself drawn to this stranger. For an Adversary, he seemed reasonable, even intelligent. She would definitely consult the Wise One before passing judgment on this unusual enemy.


	3. Chapter 3

Ekundayo lay in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by the cries of the wounded as they passed into the Eternal World. He silently cursed the Marauders who had plundered his village, but above all, he cursed his own people for refusing to acknowledge his marriage. Tribal law dictated that all unmarried men must go to battle whenever an enemy attacked, and the village elders had declared his wedding to the fair Tinashe annulled immediately after the ceremony, for a merchant's daughter must not wed a farmer.

If the Wise One had arrived before the Time of Rains, perhaps he would have overruled their decision, but the skies grew heavier with clouds by the day, and he still had not arrived. Knowing it would be their last chance to pillage for several weeks, a group of Marauders had carried away every crop ready to harvest and burned those that still ripened, snatching away several young children during their attack. After all these years, they had become callous to the shrieks of pleading mothers and the looks of fear on faces of those who would soon perish of starvation.

Despite the futility of such an effort, to salvage their tribe's honor, the elders of the village had ordered all young men to ready themselves for battle. Having come to expect such retaliation, a well-trained army of Marauders eagerly awaited their arrival and soundly defeated the militarily inexperienced novices, whooping joyfully amid drunken laughter.

Ekundayo wondered if he would stop feeling pain just before he died. Would he see the spirits of those who had gone before him? He tried not to think of how much grief his passing would cause those who waited for him back home.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, he turned his head. When he saw his uninvited visitor, his blood ran cold as the mountain snows, for she was blatantly a Marauder. No doubt she had come to loot corpses.

The Marauder knelt by his side, asking in the common language, "Where are you hurt?"

He would have spat if he'd had the strength, but Ekundayo could make no gesture of defiance other than complete silence.

"I see. Arrow to the chest and a few sword wounds." She began rummaging through the satchel she carried with her. "I'm going to do my best to help, but you have to let me take care of you."

"Never!" he replied.

"Do you have a name?"

"No!"

Undeterred, she began mixing powder into a small vial of liquid. "I'll call you Ekundayo."

He frowned. "How did you know?!"

The Marauder smiled without a word.

Ekundayo's fear was turning into anger. Who was this brazen foe who knew about his life without having even spoken to him?! Couldn't she leave a dying man in peace?!

She poured water from her canteen onto a small cloth and began dabbing his brow. "I know you have more questions than answers right now, but I need you to try to keep your emotions under control. I know that's easier said than done in a situation like this, but we've got to slow your heart. If you let yourself fly into a rage, you'll only lose blood faster."

He winced as she began rinsing out his wounds with water, but he thought it best not to protest, at least until he had discovered her true purpose for pretending to help him.

"Don't worry. I don't drink out of this canteen, and the water's pure. It comes from underground springs."

"Your name?!" Ekundayo demanded.

"Kuwanyauma," she replied.

He was unable to keep silent against his pain as she poured the mixture of powder and liquid on his injuries. It burned so deeply that he feared his very bones would burst into flame, and even a hornet could not produce a sharper sting.

"It only lasts a few moments," Kuwanyauma assured him.

To his bewilderment, she then began pouring the vile concoction over the arrowhead still embedded in his chest. Didn't she even know enough to remove the arrow before tending the wound?!

The injuries Ekundayo sustained from the swords of his enemies had ceased such horrific burning. Now they tingled the way his hand would if he rested his head on it too long, and the pain was growing duller still.

Kuwanyauma examined them closely. "How fortunate you are! Every last one of them missed organs and tendons! You'll be a bit sore for a while, but you'll suffer no permanent damage other than a few scars."

"And the arrow?!" he asked brusquely.

"Right now, it's stopping you from bleeding to death. I didn't want to remove it until I was sure your other wounds weren't fatal."

Ekundayo barely noticed the needle as Kuwanyauma stitched his wounds. The powerful antiseptic had augmented his suffering at first, but now it seemed to have caused loss of feeling where it had been administered. Removing a cream from her bag, Kuwanyauma gently rubbed it over each injury as soon as she was satisfied that it had been closed properly.

Although he knew it was necessary, Ekundayo greatly feared having the arrow removed, for it would no doubt require the use of metal tools and cauterization. He could only hope the potion, or whatever it had been, that was poured over the arrowhead would be strong enough to prevent him from feeling the procedure that lay ahead.

Seeing Kuwanyauma look through her bag once more and pull out what appeared to be torture devices used in dungeons of the cruelest tyrants, Ekundayo protested. He had tolerated her long enough, and it was high time she found another victim.

Without a word, she took a small jar of yet another cream and used it to make a stripe on each side of his neck, ending this bizarre procedure by dabbing the slightest dot on the tip of his nose. Ekundayo reached up to rub off the cream, never once suspecting that his actions only caused more absorption of it through his skin.

He was exhausted from battle and the loss of blood from his injuries. Drowsily, he closed his eyes. Perhaps it was possible to float away and drift gently above the earth like a cloud, hovering gracefully between earth and sky without a care in the world.

A familiar voice began speaking in a language he did not understand, and a stranger's voice replied in the same language. Judging from the tone, the stranger was giving high compliments.

Ekundayo opened his eyes to see what was going on around him, but he saw only the billowing clouds, so he shut his eyes once more. Even now, he could see the dark clouds closing in around him, but they seemed so peaceful.

"Rest now. I promise you will wake."

Who was speaking to him? He didn't remember anyone but the clouds.

The darkness was a comfort, a rest for his troubled mind, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

At long last, Ekundayo began to dream. His beloved Tinashe was preparing him a savory dish in a beautiful tent far more spacious than any he had ever seen.

Suddenly the tent began to fill with smoke. He knew the Marauders had sent a flaming arrow into the nearest field of crops that had not yet ripened. The crackle of the raging fire became nearly deafening, drowning out the screams of mothers as children were ripped from their arms, and the frightened cries of livestock as they were seized.

"We don't have to escape," Tinashe remarked. "We could stay here. We'll be together in death as we aren't able to do in life."

The intense heat seared their skin as the billows of smoke nearly blinded them. He tried to stop coughing long enough to take her into his arms, but as he stepped toward her, she vanished in the smoke.

Ekundayo woke sweating, unsure of his surroundings. To his horror, he heard the moans of other wounded men. He remembered that he had been through battle, but now he was on a hammock in a hut made of clay.

Gradually, his mind cleared. The Marauders had attacked his village, although he wasn't sure what had caused the part of his nightmare about Tinashe. They hadn't even been in the same tent when the attack occurred. There were times it was impossible to make any sense of dreams.

Now he remembered a Marauder tending his wounds. As he thought further, he realized she had been the same one he had seen in the forest just before the festival, the lone Marauder gathering leaves for her mother. No doubt the pair had taken him to their village.

How could he escape a village of Marauders? Were any of the captives or harvested crops here? Were the other wounded men his brothers in arms? Were they prisoners of war? What did the Marauders have planned?

He tried to sit up, but the pain was too great, although he noted that his injuries had been tended with great skill. To his alarm, he saw that the backs of his hands had been covered in soot, but the tip of each of his fingers had been painted red.

Before he could demand an explanation, a woman entered the room. Judging from the ornateness of her elaborately beaded headdress, she was obviously of great importance.

"Good afternoon, Ekundayo," she greeted in the language of trade. "My name is Polikwaptiwa."

"I don't care who you are!" he retorted.

"You will care when you see what I have for you." She handed him a hollow gourd with a small hole carved in the side. "Drink."

The cool liquid was so refreshingly sweet that Ekundayo emptied the gourd in a few quick gulps, but the aftertaste was more bitter than any substance he'd ever known. He was only too eager to accept the water Polikwaptiwa offered him.

"Medicine for the pain," she explained. "I know you're a bit sore."

He rolled his eyes. He was a bit sore after he ran too far or rolled down a hill. The anguish he felt now made him wonder if he'd ever move again.

"You and your fellow warriors will be home before the Time of Rains."

Ekundayo frowned. "Do you and your daughter always scavenge battlefields, find the wounded of both sides, and bring them to your village?"

"How else would we tend them? We are not out to prove who is right and who is wrong; we simply wish to comfort the afflicted, whoever they may be." She lightly patted his hand. "You're in luck. No Marauders were wounded."

Sensing his confusion, she hastened to explain that although the Marauders were of her same tribe, generations of disagreement had led villages to turn against each other. Polikwaptiwa prided herself on a village that dwelt among its neighbors as peacefully as they were able, but leaders of other villages were bloodthirsty and sought to gain infamy by plunder, even among their own tribe.

The markings on Ekundayo's hands identified him as a welcome guest. Each village had their own designs, but all reddened their fingers ceremonially to show that the tribe was not afraid to spill the blood of their enemies.

"Or in our case, bandage it," Polikwaptiwa concluded.

"How do you know so much about herbs? Are you a witch?"

She laughed. "Generations of my people have worked to learn the healing arts, passing down our knowledge from mother to daughter, and always striving to gain more insight about medicine. We even know how to prevent pox and save the life of someone bitten by a venomous snake. The overwhelming majority of our women survive childbirth, and we understand how to care for ailments of the muscle, viscera, and bone."

"Then why don't you do something useful with your knowledge and share it with other tribes?! Are you the only ones too good to die of disease or internal injury?!"

"The other tribes don't trust us."

Ekundayo sighed as he leaned back in his hammock. The Time of Rains couldn't be more than a few days away, if even that long. Would he really be home before a week had passed? Even now, he wasn't entirely sure if he trusted his hosts. They seemed different than the warriors who had plundered his village, but they were still Marauders.

He easily lost track of time. Had he been in this hut for an hour or a month? Every time he woke, he was greeted with medicine or food. Sometimes a Marauder would take him for short walks to stretch his legs or allow him the pleasure of fresh air, or someone would sit and visit with him a while, but he mostly slept.

Once when he awoke, Ekundayo knew he could bear his captivity no longer. He was grateful to his hosts for their care, but he would have no peace until he returned home.

When he voiced his feelings aloud, Polikwaptiwa and Kuwanyauma were pleased, declaring that he was healing nicely, and his fighting spirit would get him through the rest of what lay ahead. They would see him safely home that very day, but only on the condition that he agreed to have someone else do his farm work, and he must have a comfortable place to sleep instead of spending the night on the ground. Ekundayo readily agreed.

Several huts away, a Marauder gave the whoop that served as the tribe's battle cry. This call was echoed until the whole village was on alert. The normally peaceful tribe readied themselves with spears, arrows, and swords as they awaited their attacker.

Polikwaptiwa gasped in horror as the stranger entered their village, for this intruder was none other than Tlacelel himself, King of the Adversaries. He had come alone, but could such a small village of mostly women and children overcome an Adversary? The idea was ludicrous!

"What do you want?!" Polikwaptiwa demanded. "Our village has no quarrel with yours!"

Even as their leader spoke, mothers hid their children, and fathers made ready to fight for the lives of their families.

"There are those among your tribe," Tlacelel began, "who have plundered the village of my betrothed. Therefore, I have no choice but to defend her honor by administering just punishment."

"Just!" Polikwaptiwa exclaimed. "Only an Adversary would think punishing one village for the sins of another is just! Have you forgotten that your tribe is the only one that has banded together as a kingdom? Among our people, the leader of one village cannot be responsible for the actions of another!"

Tlacelel shrugged. "One village of Marauders is like another. You're all the same to me."

"Hardly! We care for the wounded!"

The Adversary laughed heartily. Compassionate Marauders?! What a ridiculous idea! Surely they didn't truly believe he was foolish enough to accept such an obvious lie!

Hearing the conversation, Ekundayo stepped out of the hut where he had been staying. The designs of his hands bore a striking resemblance to those of Marauders, but the strength of his lithe calves declared his true identity.

"I was wounded in battle against the Marauders," he stated. "The people of this village saved my life."

Tlacelel stared in disbelief. When had Marauders ever cared about their own, let alone other tribes?

"Very well," he responded. "For reasons beyond my comprehension, you have spoken the truth, Marauder."

Without a word, he turned to leave.

"Confound that accursed Tlacelel!" Polikwaptiwa muttered to herself. "I just hear his name, and I'm so overcome with disgust that I nearly lose the contents of my stomach!"

Kuwanyauma sighed. "At least he didn't take any lives this time."

Although Ekundayo refused any manner of reward for speaking up for the villagers, Polikwaptiwa insisted.

"Besides, it may be enough to impress your village elders," she remarked. "Perhaps they would be willing to acknowledge your matrimony to a certain young lady."

Ekundayo frowned. If these Marauders were benevolent, how had they learned the secrets of his tribe? If their kindness was a mere façade, why hadn't they killed him when they had the chance?


	5. Chapter 5

Among the Council of the Wise dwelt five learned men, and in a separate wooden house lived five sage women. Sometimes people brought offerings of food and cloth to the Village of Wisdom in exchange for advice from the Council of the Wise, but this privilege was not without its consequences.

Every year, a Wise One would make rounds among all tribes and answer the questions of the Village Elders, for no tribe ever attacked a Wise One. To remain just, a different Wise One was chosen every year, and each year, the Wise One selected for the voyage was the opposite gender of the one chosen the previous year. The men would discuss among themselves which woman was best suited to be appointed, and the women would choose which man would receive the honor of making the rounds.

When the chosen Wise One arrived in a village, the Test of Fools would be performed immediately after ceremonial greetings. Anyone who had asked for advice during the year would be questioned or given a task to perform, depending on the number of times the person had visited the Village of Wisdom. People who had asked only one short question and taken their leave in less than an hour were treated far less harshly than people who had visited many times or spent the entire day among the Council of the Wise.

Anyone who answered the questions with sagacity or performed the assigned task well would present his or her forehead, which the Wise One would anoint while giving a speech praising the person, for he or she had proven that all visits to the Village of Wisdom had been motivated by the desire for knowledge, and much wisdom had indeed been gained. However, whoever gave unsuitable responses or slipshod work would be considered a fool, for all the time spent at the Village of Wisdom had been to no avail. The fool would be forced to give a speech in poetic language as apology for wasting the time of the Council of the Wise. He or she would then bow in submission, remaining inclined to receive lashes across the back with a cane, the severity of which was decided entirely by the Wise One. Some people experienced intense humiliation but no pain as they received only one or two strokes, but others had been beaten until they were unable to move for weeks at a time.

Most people were too frightened to risk punishment before the entire tribe, so they simply kept their questions to themselves until the Wise One's yearly visit to each village. The wait could be frustrating, but quite often, it didn't seem worth the risk to have an immediate answer.

Between storms during the Time of Rains, Ekundayo mended the thatched roof of his hut. For speaking up for her village of Marauders, Polikwaptiwa had given him enough spices to hire builders to construct a clay hut rather than a tent. The livestock she had given him was over twice what he had previously owned. Now he was certain the Village Elders would acknowledge his marriage to Tinashe, for he was no longer a poor farmer.

Suddenly, he heard one of the elders announce, "He has come!"

The entire village gathered around the clearing the elder was watching, for the Wise One was drawing near. Men began to play instruments as women danced in celebration. Children hurried to their tents to bring the gifts they had been instructed to present to the Wise One.

When the Wise One was close enough to hear, another elder began the welcoming speech. "We are honored that you have come to impart to us your wisdom, most revered among men. We beg you accept these humble gifts and partake of our finest dishes."

The Wise One said nothing, for he must not speak before he had eaten. He sat in the tent that had been specially prepared for him, seated on the ceremonial chair while each family took turns making polite speeches and presenting their gifts to honor him. He was offered a bit of fruit so he would not suffer as he waited for the banquet that evening, but he must not allow himself to become too full, for he must taste every delicacy prepared to celebrate his arrival.

After a few hours, the Village Elders sat on cushions in a semi-circle around the Wise One's feet as they partook of the banquet together. No one else was permitted to enter the ceremonial tent during this time, for only the elders were worthy.

Having finished the meal, the Wise One was finally permitted to speak freely, but his first words must always be a declaration that the Test of Fools had begun. This announcement was immediately repeated by the elders until all people had gathered around the scaffold in the center of the village.

The Wise One stood on the scaffold, a long, stout cane in his hand. "Who shall answer first?!"

To everyone's surprise, no one stepped forward.

One of the elders bowed respectfully. "Wise One, all among our tribe counted themselves unworthy to seek any wisdom besides that which the Council of the Wise offers freely."

"There is a spy among you," the Wise One replied. "A spy who comes sometimes in the garment of a man, sometimes that of a woman. Sometimes our visitor looks the part of a Marauder, sometimes an Adversary. Yes, even an Earth Mover at times."

"Who is this spy?" the elder queried.

"It is your village. You tell me."

The villagers murmured softly to each other. Who among them was so brazen as to sit outside the lodges of the Council of the Wise and overhear their wisdom without offering a present to show gratitude? Why did this person not share wisdom freely among his or her tribe after gaining such knowledge? Would the punishment be to bludgeon the offender to death or to accept the cunning one into the Council of the Wise?

There being no Test of Fools, the Wise One retired to his tent, where he spent the night on a thick pallet stuffed with feathers, covered by the softest, most beautifully designed blankets the village could produce. His tent was one of the only ones among the tribe that didn't leak during the Time of Rains.

In his comfortable hut, Ekundayo slept soundly, his fair Tinashe by his side. He didn't care what the village elders said. He belonged entirely to Tinashe. It was his duty and his privilege to love her, protect her, provide for her, comfort her, encourage her, and rejoice with her. He would offer his loving support to no one else.

Tinashe also disregarded the rebuttal of the elders. She knew the man beside her had been created for the sole purpose of receiving a lifetime of her love, and she would have no other. When she rested in his arms, she felt as if all the evils of the world were powerless.

However, a fear was beginning to grow inside her. She prayed daily at the temple that her fear was unfounded, but her worry grew stronger by the day.

After breakfast with the elders the following morning, the Wise One sat in his ceremonial chair, which had been moved to the scaffold. A crude roof had been built over the platform, that the Wise One might be safe from the rain as he answered questions. He would first answer those that concerned the village as a whole, presented by the elders; then he would respond to questions by individuals. The Wise One would spend a week honoring the village with his presence before continuing his journey.

"Wise One," one of the elders began, "we bring before you today a question of two marriages. King Tlacelel of the Adversaries wishes to take one of our young women as his bride. We see how such an alliance could prove our safety, but we see just as clearly how it may easily cause our downfall."

"The second marriage is this," another elder continued. "A poor farmer has taken a merchant's daughter to be his wife. We cannot acknowledge this marriage due to their differences in status, but the man has recently acquired wealth from the Marauders. Is this a sign?"

The Wise One was silent for the longest time before replying. "I shall tell a story."

Everyone remained respectfully silent as he began his promised tale.


	6. Chapter 6

Gentle Ismat hummed softly to herself as she washed her family's garments in the river. She was a dutiful, obedient girl, always taking pleasure in her chores as a way to repay her good family for the care she had received since birth.

By contrast, Bamidele was stubborn and headstrong. Several times had she been punished before her village as a fool, but still she refused to learn. So lazy was Bamidele that she would starve to death if her family did not remind her to raise her hand from the bowl to her mouth.

As time passed, the two women grew to a marriageable age. No man would dream of taking Bamidele into his household, but that was the way she preferred. She would look after herself and no one else. She would never experience the pain of childbirth or the endless duties of raising children.

Ismat had so many suitors that her father could scarcely remember them all. He assigned a series of tournaments to test the physical stamina and wisdom of each man, but many of them proved themselves worthy, and he was still unable to decide.

At long last, he found a young man who was far more affluent than the others. The youth was also handsome of face and strong of muscles, and his mind was as sound as granite. After many long discussions with him, the father was convinced that this suitor was the one meant to be his son-in-law.

Never once questioning her father's decision, Ismat adorned her hair with flowers and painted her face with ochre and her wrists with henna. The older women of the village gave her toasted gourd seeds to eat and sprinkled the front of her robe with soil to remind her body that it must be ever fertile.

As soon as the wedding ceremony was complete, Ismat's husband flung her over his shoulder and carried her home like a large bundle to show that she now belonged to him. Out of respect for her husband, Ismat uttered not one word for the rest of the day.

The following morning, she knelt as his feet and tenderly kissed them while he explained how he wished for his household to be run. At his request, she sat beside him as he told her all about himself: his hobbies, his favorite meals, his childhood dreams, and whatever else crossed his mind.

Ismat proved an excellent wife. A little over a year later, she dutifully bore him a son. Scarcely had the boy taken his first steps before Ismat brought forth another son to honor her husband.

One might think Ismat lived in marital bliss for the rest of her days, but her husband began to grow distant. His wife was an excellent housekeeper and a wonderful mother of his strong sons, but through no fault of her own, he was becoming displeased with her, considering instead seeking the company of other women.

Unwilling to find a reason to divorce her, the man thought to murder his wife, but when Ismat heard his plans, she was overcome with grief. Rather than pleading for her life, she thought to drown herself to atone for whatever wrong she might have done her husband, who was truly the best of men.

However, as the current of the river swept her away, she did not drown. Instead she came to a strange village among a tribe she did not know. As time passed, she learned their language and their way of life, and in due time, she married once more.

Ismat tried once again to become a dutiful wife, but she took no pleasure from her husband's kisses, for she had begun to wonder what she received in exchange for keeping house and raising children. Did her husband truly love her, or only the work she was able to do?

Although he tried to make her life happy, Ismat despised him. She loathed the idea of serving men, and they all seemed the same to her. One night when the house was still, she thrust a spear through his heart.

The tribal elders found her the following day, plucking handfuls of grass and throwing them into the air as she giggled. Ismat had gone mad. She scarcely noticed as she was executed for her crime of murdering an innocent man. Let no woman become discontent with her lot, lest she be driven mad by the rebellion in her own heart!

Meanwhile, the rebellious Bamidele had lived over two decades and still had the disgrace of remaining unloved. At first she continued to rejoice that she would not end up like the hapless Ismat, but gradually, her family succumbed to age one by one, leaving her alone in the world. She well enjoyed her independence, for she answered to no man. However, there were times when she wished to talk to someone other than her own shadow, and when she grew old, she had no children to care for her.

Bamidele was also cursed in old age by watching her friends stroll hand in hand with their respective spouses, bouncing grandchildren on their knees. Although once undesirable, becoming a wife and mother now seemed like the only natural course of life, and she regretted having shunned it for so long, but of course, it was too late. Her once beautiful face had become haggard with age. No man would so much as glance her direction.

What then is the better decision, to wed or to remain single? How foolish are mortals! How infinite the fickle nature of mankind!

One woman believes marriage is the root of all problems, so she remains single. As the years pass, she comes to believe life would be better with a soul mate.

Another woman believes marriage is the solution to all problems, but after only a few weeks as a wife, she finds more trouble than she ever expected. She is unable to understand why her wedding did not cause all things in life to become beautiful. She envies the woman who has never had suitors.

Who then is to be envied, she who is a wife, or she who is her own woman? Alas! The folly of mortals is infinite!

One couple complains bitterly about an arranged marriage, but after a few years, they are deeply in love. Another couple marries for love, but after a few years, they despise each other. Yet another couple accepts arranged marriage without complaint, even with traces of enthusiasm, but these two also fail to find love. Then the fourth couple marries for love, and their matrimony remains happy.

What then is the better choice for marriage, to choose love or to accept the best arrangement?

Hear my tale, you who seek understanding. Hear it well, and do not forget its meaning.

Marriage is neither the cause nor the solution to all the world's evils; it is simply another state of being. If a man or woman remains single, let this person rejoice, for it is better never to wed than to choose the wrong spouse. If a man and a woman marry, let them beware. Even couples who share the greatest love will have a great deal of work for the benefit of their marriage, yet all work is in vain if love cannot be achieved.

Remember then, dear friends, that even the wise cannot explain all the mysteries of the universe, for what woman, however learned, could ever find words to explain a man, and what man, however sage, could ever begin to comprehend the mind of a woman?


	7. Chapter 7

Zeltzin sighed as her maids cut her final lock of hair. Even though she understood that her people expected all women to be bald, preferring the men to have long hair, she would miss having her sister help plait her tresses.

Her new responsibilities worried her. Although she greatly looked forward to life in a house made of stone, she wondered what new responsibilities her role as queen would bring. What if she displeased her husband?

The attendants, who were forbidden by law to have names, helped Zeltzin dress in a silver gown, intricately stitched with hundreds of beads, with sleeves longer than her arms. Around her shoulders, the sleeves were so thick that she couldn't feel her upper arms against her ribs when she placed her hands at her sides. The train was well over three times the length of the gown. One of the women attending her placed a garland of flowers on Zeltzin's head while another began to paint intricate designs befitting a queen.

Tlacelel stood on the ceremonial raised platform of marble. It was here that he administered justice or made proclamations to his people, but now he awaited his bride. His hair and beard were well groomed, and his golden robe dazzled in the sun. The robe was tight around his stomach so all who saw him would notice the flatness of his perfectly toned muscles, and as further demonstration of his strength, his robe bore no sleeves.

He knew his bride's robe would be opposite from his in every way, symbolizing the extreme differences between a man and a woman, but the unification of these differences into one life through matrimony. However, Tlacelel could hardly have prepared himself for the moment when he saw her step out of the carriage, assisted by the nameless women who were now her servants. How stunning she was! Her beauty was as breathtaking as the silver glimmer of the stars!

As Zeltzin approached, she stopped three times and bowed as a symbol of deference to her king, awaiting him to command her to rise to show he had accepted her. She then knelt on the cushion to his right to show she would spend her life serving him.

The priest addressed Tlacelel first. "This woman has been given to you to oversee your household. She will listen to the problems of your nobles and assist as she is able, but she will leave all major decisions to your wisdom. She will rule over the ladies of your court. Thrice daily shall she set before you food your servants have prepared. In due time, she will bear you many sons. If you should ever fall ill, she shall remain in the temple and pray until you finally recover. Do you accept her?"

"I accept," Tlacelel replied solemnly.

The priest then turned to Zeltzin. "This man has been given to you as your overseer. You shall have no trouble in life, for he shall make all major decisions for you. He will consider your opinions when you tell him how best his nobles and subjects can serve him. He will dine with you so you will not be lonely, and he shall cause you to bring forth children. Do you accept him?"

For the briefest moment, Zeltzin wished she had her sister's spirit. It seemed to her that she had more duties than Tlacelel, even though he was the king. She silently questioned if it was just. However, loyalty to her tribe caused her to proceed without hesitation, for the Adversaries would prove a powerful ally.

"I accept," she stated softly.

"Then take her away."

Tlacelel lifted Zeltzin in his muscular arms and carried her to the carriage. The servants closed the door, leaving them alone.

"We'll return for the celebration shortly," he explained.

Zeltzin made no reply.

"You look lovely!" Tlacelel complimented.

"I hope to prove myself worthy of the king's radiance," Zeltzin replied out of courtesy.

She hid a sigh as they arrived at the king's stone house, where she had spent all morning being prepared for her wedding. Now that it was no longer a distant fantasy, the king's home seemed dark and foreboding rather than spacious and welcoming, and she longed to be anywhere else.

Tlacelel carried her inside as a demonstration of his strength and that he had conquered a wife, who now belonged to him. When he crossed the threshold with his bride, men cheered as if he were a valiant hunter who had just captured the finest quarry.

Ladies bobbed a curtsy and led Zeltzin to the king's chamber, helping her remove her jewelry and outer garments until she was dressed in only a simple smock. They left, and Zeltzin dutifully lay on the floor near the foot of the king's bed.

Tlacelel entered the room with a sword. "Why do you lie near my bed?"

"To show I am ever ready to serve you, by day or night," Zeltzin responded. "I am unworthy to be on equal ground with you, so I sleep on the floor, near your feet, to show I am less than you."

"If you truly submit to my will, I command you to demonstrate your loyalty further."

These words were Zeltzin's cue to kneel beside the bed and lean over it, making it easy for Tlacelel to reach her back.

"I am your king!" he declared, hitting her across the spine with the flat part of the blade of his sword.

"And all the king does is wise and just," she replied subserviently.

"I could end your very life!" He struck her again.

"Yes, my lord, for all the king does is noble."

"Swear this day on your very soul that you shall defer to me in absolute obedience at all times!" Tlacelel struck her so hard that she nearly whimpered.

"I swear obedience to my king, for all the king does is right and good."

Zeltzin winced each time the sword hit her back, but she knew she could not flinch or utter a complaint of pain. Every time she felt the sword, she must praise the king, for this part of the ceremony showed that she willingly submitted to her new husband in all things, even those that seemed harmful to her.

Tlacelel would never again strike his wife, but just as a king must prove worthy of his reign, a queen must prove worthy of her king. He was not half the egotistical brute he seemed, but his fierce loyalty to his people included honoring their traditions.

At last, the ceremonial demonstration of submission was finished, and the other women entered the room and set up the birthing stool, helping Zeltzin onto it. She must wait there for Tlacelel, showing she understood her duty of bearing sons, for until she carried a prince or princess, she was not worthy to lie in the king's bed.

After Tlacelel had made her his wife, he helped her dress in her wedding garments and fine jewelry to show that he had the power over her life not only to cast her down, but to raise her up, and he had chosen the latter. He then ordered the ladies to prepare his wife's room, for she would now live in the castle; he had truly accepted her as his queen.

Meanwhile, the Adversaries played music and danced around the marble platform. The songs were simplistic and lively, for slow music must not be played until the king shared his first dance with his new queen. Although a splendid banquet was spread on the table, no food was served, for the king must eat first.

Tinashe sighed. Even though her sister's marriage had united the two tribes, she couldn't help but feel as if she were surrounded by enemies. Who was to say the hearts of these people had truly turned and longed for peace? Perhaps they plotted against their new queen, even as they danced in celebration of her arrival.

What would happen if an Adversary noticed the reason she wore robes that were loose around her waist? Tinashe knew she had to tell Ekundayo soon, but how could she tell her husband something that would break both their hearts? She certainly couldn't tell him on her sister's wedding day, but she knew now that her prayers at the temple had been refused; her worst fear was now the one she must face.

Ekundayo was becoming increasingly concerned about his wife. She no longer ran, and she was growing more taciturn by the day. Perhaps she was aging, or perhaps she was simply worried about her sister. As the Wise One had stated in his tale, no man could ever truly understand a woman's mind.

There was a loud whoop, echoed by several others. To the Adversaries' horror, they found themselves surrounded by a band of Marauders. Ekundayo gasped and put his arms around his wife protectively, for these were not people of the village who had saved his life. These Marauders were out to plunder.

Their leader laughed joyfully. "King Tlacelel throwing a party, and we weren't invited!"

Another woman clicked her tongue in disapproval. "What a pity! All the guards seemed to have disappeared with the king and his new queen!"

While the more peaceful Marauders began helping themselves to the king's wedding feast, others began killing Adversaries as a public example. The Marauder way of execution was slitting the victim's sides, allowing the viscera to fall out on its own.

Mothers seized their children and fled, for although Marauders prided themselves on abducting the young members of all tribes, an Adversary child was the most highly prized, for the Adversaries were the only tribe who dared plunder the villages of Marauders. Many Marauder children had fallen into the hands of Adversaries and been sold to the Pirates.

As the final guests rushed to their homes to grab weapons, King Tlacelel returned with his retinue. He had been in high spirits, but now he was furious that anyone had dared to interrupt his wedding celebration. The insult was even less acceptable when he noted that the uninvited guests were the worst of all rivals, the Marauders.

Tlacelel's renown as a warrior was well known, and the Marauders were only a small band, so at his presence, they fled, knowing they could never hope to defeat his army. However, Tlacelel pursued them, managing to take one man as prisoner. The others watched helplessly from a distance, knowing what horrific act was about to be committed.

The prisoner was dragged onto the marble platform and forced to lie down on his back with his head just barely protruding over the edge. A heavy stone was placed on his chest to pin him. Tree resin was placed on his eyelids, which were forcibly held open until the resin quickly dried, rendering the prisoner unable to shut his eyes. Hot coals were placed on either side of his head, forcing him to keep absolutely still, for if the prisoner turned his head the slightest way to either side, he would be horrifically burned.

Without further ceremony, Tlacelel took a sword and beheaded the prisoner. He would later cook the head in its own blood in a savory stew, but instead of eating it, he would go to every village of Marauders and dump a bit of the stew into their wells.

The leader of the Marauder band shook her head. Her people had tolerated the Adversaries far too long. One of these days, victory would be hers, and Tlacelel would pay dearly for every innocent life his people had claimed and every vegetable and grain that had stolen from their fields.

Tinashe said nothing as she made her way home with her husband. Tlacelel had taken Zeltzin as his wife in a promise that their alliance would protect both tribes. So far, he was an extreme disappointment, for how could he protect two tribes when he couldn't even protect his own wedding reception?


	8. Chapter 8

Whenever a baby was born among Tinashe's tribe, everyone retreated to their tents, placing torches just outside to light the new one's way into the world. One or two of the elderly women in the tribe would enter the mother's tent and do what they could to assist her. After the birth, one of the women would step outside and proclaim that a new member had come to dwell among them, and the entire village would rejoice.

However, if it seemed the mother would not be able to deliver the baby, the woman would announce that the dark spirits had come to claim a life, and everyone would remain in their tents until the mother died. Even the women who had come to her aid would abandon the mother. In rare cases, she would manage to give birth, but it was likely either the mother or the baby, often both, would pass away.

Hearing the dreaded announcement concerning dark spirits claiming another life one evening, Tinashe's heart was moved by pity. Although she knew the dark spirits may take her life as well if they caught her outside her home, she felt a wave of fear move deep within her, wondering what she would do if she were in the young mother's place.

Taking a bowl of water and a cloth, Tinashe entered the mother's tent and began lightly dabbing her face. The struggling woman was in tears from her pain and the horrible thought that she might lose her baby, as well as her own life. Ekundayo followed his wife to the tent, but he stood outside, not breaching protocol by entering.

"I know someone who may be able to help," he remarked.

"Yes, go quickly!" Tinashe replied.

The young mother's eyes widened as she heard footsteps quickly fleeing into the darkness. Why would anyone help her? Did they have no fear of the dark spirits?

"When my husband was wounded, two women saved his life," Tinashe began. "Even though they look like Marauders, their village practices healing rather than pillaging. The mothers of the village have great success in bringing forth healthy babies. You would allow one of these women to try to help you, wouldn't you?"

The mother squeezed Tinashe's hand in agreement. She was willing to trust anyone who promised not to harm her baby.

As Ekundayo hurried through the darkness, he took a shortcut through the woods. The forest was even more dangerous at night, and in the distance, he could see a fire. At first he suspected a group of Marauders, but as he got closer, he saw a group of Nomads.

The Nomads seemed harmless enough. They moved in a circular route throughout many lands. For a few weeks every year, they arrived near this stretch of river.

However, they were not as benign as they seemed, for their lack of belief in private ownership of property led them to help themselves to the crops and livestock of others. Some tribes reported coming home after a day of hunting, only to find a large group of Nomads refusing to leave the owner's hut.

Ekundayo would deal with the Nomads later. All that mattered now was finding the village of Marauders that took pity on their fellow man, or in this case, their fellow woman. After what seemed like hours, he finally arrived, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. The whoops of sentries informed the village leaders of his presence, and for several torturous moments, he wondered if he had stumbled upon the wrong village.

Kuwanyauma approached him. "What brings our old friend back for a visit?"

He managed to gasp, "Baby…"

"Oh, is a woman of your tribe having trouble in childbirth?"

"Must…leave…now!"

Kuwanyauma hurried to her hut to gather a few supplies. She returned with two black horses.

"They're less conspicuous at night," she explained, handing him a gourd of water. "Did you run all the way here? I thought your people were better at speed than endurance. No wonder you're exhausted!"

Without a word, he put the gourd to his lips. It was hard for him to drink slowly, but he remembered the fate of those who drink water too quickly when exhausted. When he had finally finished the water, he accepted the offered horse and led the way to the woman's tent.

Tinashe sighed with relief when she saw Kuwanyauma. "Thank goodness you've arrived! She's frightened."

Kuwanyauma took the mother's hand. "Good evening. I know the most exciting day of your life isn't going as planned, but I'm here to help."

"Just get it out!" the young woman responded, adding as an afterthought, "Without killing it."

"It seems if we can get the baby to turn…" Kuwanyauma pressed on the mother's swollen waist, causing the unborn child to flip. "Now let's see about making you more comfortable."

After Kuwanyauma had helped the mother onto the birthing stool, Tinashe gripped the young woman's shoulders.

"Is it stuck again?!" the mother demanded.

"Not for long," Kuwanyauma assured her.

The young woman's final scream was interrupted by the baby's first cry.

"Never again!" she vowed. "I'm never having another baby!"

"You don't need one," Kuwanyauma assured her. "Your little boy is beautiful, strong, and healthy."

The mother frowned. "Are you sure this is a newborn? He's huge!"

Tinashe stepped out of the tent and loudly announced, "A new member has come to dwell among our tribe!"

Several people murmured in astonishment as they stepped out of their tents. They had expected that the following day would be one of funerary rites, but the baby had survived.

The father hesitantly asked the question he had most dreaded. "My wife…?"

"She's exhausted," Tinashe replied, "but she will live."

The elder women of the village begged Kuwanyauma to stay for a short while and teach them what should be done for difficult births, and she agreed to remain in the village for a few weeks if they would promise to write down what she taught. This bargain was more than acceptable, and they immediately began discussing which tent was large enough to accommodate their visitor.

"She may stay with us," Ekundayo offered. "Our home is quite spacious."

As Kuwanyauma settled into the comfortable guestroom she had been offered, Tinashe painted her own face with black ochre tears. She then asked Ekundayo to follow her to the garden.

Ekundayo's heart raced so swiftly that it caused him chest pains. What troubled his wife so greatly that her beautiful face bore the marks of sorrow?

Turning to him, Tinashe took his hand in hers and placed it on her waist, which moved of its own accord. Ekundayo recoiled at what he had felt. How was this tragedy possible?!

Sighing deeply, his wife sank to her knees and sang the traditional lament of her tribe:

" _Bleak land of blackened shadows,_

 _You have turned everything I have ever loved_

 _Into the parched dust_

 _Blown past the horizon by the driving wind!_

" _The breaks in the scorched earth_

 _Where once reigned the mightiest of rivers_

 _Are as nothing compared to my breaking heart,_

 _Crushed beneath the weight of my tears!_

" _A void rests within me,_

 _Darker than a moonless night without stars,_

 _Sharper than the most bitter wind_

 _That howls in rage from the cold;_

" _In this void was once a beating heart,_

 _Now broken and shriveled_

 _Like dying leaves that fall from trees_

 _As tears falling from the heavens._

" _Oh, let me lie beneath the dust of the earth,_

 _That I may dream of the life I once knew,_

 _For though rain should kiss the ground daily,_

 _Never again shall flowers be reborn!"_

Ekundayo made no remark as his wife sang of their grief. He wished to comfort and support his wife, but what could he say? A coming baby was no reason to celebrate, for the child would likely be stolen by Marauders at a young age, leaving the parents heartbroken.


	9. Chapter 9

"Your Majesty is in great danger!" the boy shouted, flinging open the doors to the room where King Tlacelel sat on his majestic throne of gold.

One of the palace guards seized him. "You cannot appear unannounced before His Majesty! The king has matters of utmost importance…"

"But the king is in danger!"

King Tlacelel frowned. Judging from the short tunic and dirty hands, the young man was an Earth Mover. He was barely old enough to grow a beard, still more of a boy than a man.

"Why am I in danger?!" the king demanded.

"The Marauders plan to use the Nomads as cover," the Earth Mover explained. "When the Nomads are wandering through your kingdom, causing turmoil because they don't believe in private ownership of property, the Marauders plan to lay siege to…"

King Tlacelel waved his hand dismissively and ordered that the Earth Mover be thrown into the dungeon for his breach of etiquette over some outlandish tale. Let the Nomads and the Marauders come! They would wish they had never set foot in his kingdom!

As the guards reached for him, the Earth Mover fled, his bare feet leaving a trail of dust down the corridor. His tribe did not produce the fastest man, but few could match his agility. However, the guards knew they would be punished severely if they failed to capture the prisoner, so the chase continued.

The Earth Mover flung open the palace gate, fleeing into the forest. The guards split up behind him, intending to ambush him. Seeing no other option, he began climbing the nearest tree. Undeterred, the guards simply took their axes and began to chop down the tree while their frightened prisoner frantically looked for any means of escape.

His fate may have been sealed had it not been for a group of Marauders, whooping wildly as they rushed toward the palace. As the horrific swordfight ensued, the Earth Mover jumped from the tree. He felt pain worse than any he had ever known in his limbs, yet he bravely struggled to get away, slipping unnoticed through the woodlands.

Less than half an hour later, all was quiet, yet he was barely a mile away from the palace. He heard the sound of footsteps, and he silently prayed he had not been found by an Adversary or a Marauder, for he was too exhausted to continue.

Kuwanyauma knelt beside the injured Earth Mover. "Do not worry, my friend. Help has arrived."

The young man frowned. "What are you doing here?!"

"Helping you."

"You're not an Adversary!"

"Neither are you." She lightly gripped his uninjured shoulder. "Take a few deep breaths."

"Why?"

Seeing that Kuwanyauma would not relent, Jocose began breathing deeply. After one such inhalation, Kuwanyauma quickly adjusted his fractured arm.

"Do I go around torturing your wretched kind, Marauder?!" he demanded as she stabilized the limb.

"I know it hurt a little bit, but it had to be done."

"A little bit?! It felt worse than getting the injury in the first…!" His exclamation was interrupted by his own cries of pain as his leg was reset. "Will you stop it?!"

"I'll walk with you to make sure you reach your village in safety." She finished her work. "We'll get a stout branch to use as a crutch."

Jocose greatly objected to the company of a Marauder, but it was becoming painfully blatant that she wasn't going to leave. As they walked, she explained that she had heard of the attack on Tlacelel's palace, so she had come to make sure no one had been injured.

When they arrived at the village of Earth Movers, the sentry gave the alarm call that signified the presence of a Marauder. The Earth Movers retreated into their wattle and daub huts, but several of them opened their doors slightly and stared.

"This is where we part ways," Kuwanyauma announced.

Before Jocose could ask her name or thank her for her care, she disappeared. Recognizing Jocose as a member of their own village, the sentries gave the signal that all was clear.

The young man sighed. He had long since tired of life as an Earth Mover. Their homes, their ovens, their eating utensils…all was of mud or clay. Occasionally, wood was used, but stone was rare as a building material.

His attempts to gain favor with richer tribes had failed. What must it be like to be a member of King Tlacelel's tribe of Adversaries and drink from goblets of gold, encrusted with gems? What was it like to be a Marauder and have the finest resources every tribe had to offer?

The Earth Movers were often victimized by even the weaker tribes, for their weapons were crude and primitive. Villages of Earth Movers often fought each other to the death over the scarce supplies of food or women.

As Jocose ate his meal of roasted crickets and mealworms, for his tribe prided themselves in living from the fruits of the earth that served them so well, the chieftainess stood about the stone platform in the center of the village, signifying that she had an announcement for the village. Everyone immediately hurried to where she stood. When all had gathered, the chieftainess raised her hands to the sky, bringing them down in a circular motion as a demonstration that the eternal cycles of life could never be broken.

"Our enemies crush us in their fists," she began, "but it is the way of life. The Marauders have dictated that the following boys shall now become men, for it is the way of life: Arnlaugur, Tryggvi, Jocose, Digory, Guozhi, and Yuanjun. Prepare yourselves well and perform your duties flawlessly, for such is the way of life."

Jocose could scarcely believe what he had heard. He was barely old enough to shave the hair from his chin. Why had the Marauders chosen a wife for him? If he did have to marry, why couldn't he choose his own bride?

Among his tribe, marriages were arranged by the far more powerful Marauders. If the Earth Movers worked hard in the mines of powerful Marauder chieftains, they were rewarded by not having their villages plundered. The Earth Movers further protected their homes against pillage by refusing to raise crops or livestock.

However, the Marauders also controlled the weaker tribe in all ways. Only the chieftainess was allowed to marry the male of her choice, for only she was allowed to carry her own babies. A handful of elite men were permitted to spend their entire lives as bachelors, hoping one day to wed a chieftainess of some village or the other.

All other men were randomly assigned brides when they came of age. Before the wedding day, the men were made eunuchs so their wives would bear no children. The couples would then be forced to raise kidnapped children of other tribes that the Marauders pillaged. When the children had almost reached adulthood, a career would be chosen for them. Most remained among the Earth Movers as miners, but a select few would become personal servants to the Marauders.

Jocose had been born to the tribe of Racers, but having dwelt among the Earth Movers since infancy, he had not developed the lithe muscles of his parents and siblings. The majority of his acquaintances had been born to the Nomads, although his nearest neighbor was born among the Adversaries.

As he sat outside and gazed at the stars that evening, he considered his options. To defy social expectations was not only to risk his own life, but to spit on the natural course of life. Surely the heavenly spirits would not look favorably upon one who refused the eternal cycle. To risk execution was simple enough, but what happened to the everlasting soul afterwards?

Coming to peace with his decision in the hours between midnight and dawn, he took his only possession, his stout crutch, and limped into the darkness.


End file.
